


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by arthursarse



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthursarse/pseuds/arthursarse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America has a tendency to disappear occasionally, but this time he has been gone too long. Canada and England grow worried, but don't have the time to look for him so they send France instead. What will happen when France finds the American riding around his old ranch?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the 2012 F.A.C.E. Secret Santa fic exchange. The prompt asked for France to seduce a rugged Cowboy!America. The requester wanted a lot of light teasing and for it to all end in kisses. I threw in my own Christmas twist to go along with it. Happy Holidays!

Hues of red and gold passed by in a blur. They twirled around the elaborate ballroom in an intricate dance that hasn’t been seen in decades. France smiled as he moved between the bodies. Anyone who saw the elegant decorations and lights knew it was one of his yearly holiday parties. At the front of the room stood the Christmas tree that was dressed in silver garlands and fake icicles. It towered over everyone as they danced, as if it might crash over them any minute. 

“Merry Christmas,” strangers greeted one another. France wasn’t dancing at the moment, so he found an open seat where he could get another glass of wine. He enjoyed the live music that was playing. He had picked out each song just for this occasion. Yet, something was off. One of the musicians started to play a different song. 

France tried to talk to him, but found that the musician couldn’t hear over the sound of the other instruments. He tried shaking the man, but it was as though he was invisible. And that annoying song he was playing wouldn’t stop. The musician played it repeatedly. It was strange, France swore he had heard this song before. 

France opened his eyes, the party had disappeared. Instead, France was in his bed back at his Paris home. The dream had started out like a beautiful memory, ruined by the call of work and reality. He begrudgingly reached for his ringing cellphone, telling himself that the wonderful dream would have to continue later. 

France sounded more annoyed then he meant to, “Qui est-ce?”

“Oh, don’t throw out that disgusting language of yours at me!” If he wasn’t so tired, France might have smiled. 

“Isn’t it a bit early to be calling me, Angleterre? Do you need someone to get you home safe from the bar again? I could call you a cab.”

“What-No! I called because…well, Canada said we should get help. I’m calling on his behalf.” France could hear some whispering in the background. He assumed it was his old colony.

“So you’re asking for my help?”

“Are you daft? I would never need your help! I’m simply calling because Canada wanted me to. And why should I work more than I have to when I can make you do it instead?” France chuckled, sitting up in his bed so he could brush the sleep from his eyes. 

“What’s going on, Angleterre?” A long silence followed. It was just long enough that France began to feel genuinely worried. The Englishmen was rarely one to call looking for help, especially from the French. It meant that his old enemy was out of options. “England?”

“…America has gone missing.” France sighed in relief.

“We all need some time to ourselves. I can think of more than a few times that you disappeared. Remember the time I found you hiding in a large owl hole up in some tree? It took weeks to get the sap out of your already disheveled hair.”

“Shut up you idiot frog! That was centuries ago and besides… this is different. It’s not just his boss that can’t track him down. He’s been gone for weeks now and neither I nor Canada can find him.” That was rare. Every country needed the occasional vacation, but they always told someone where they were going in case something went wrong. 

“What do you need me to do?” There was another pause as England let out a small sound. France could visualize his shoulders relaxing. 

“Canada and I have spent too much time trying to look for him. Our own governments need us now. We’ve checked all his homes in the major cities and found nothing. We were hoping you would continue the search while we take care of our work. We’ll come and help you once it’s over.” 

“Alright, I’ll go see if I can do anything. Goodnight Angelterre.” France tossed his phone to the side before falling back on the bed. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep breath. He let his mind try to sort out the puzzle. This would only happen if America didn’t want to be found. The last time that happened…well that would be the first place to look.

Deciding not to dwell on the reasons behind America’s disappearance, France picked his phone up off the floor and called the nearest airport. 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 

It didn’t matter that summer was long over, America was sweating. It was unusually hot, but that was alright. America focused on the sound of hoofs digging into the dirt, the wind brushing his neck, and the strain on his legs as he sat up on the stirrups. His grip on the reins tightened until his knuckles turned white. He hadn’t had this type of freedom in a long time. 

America pushed his horse to go faster, his smile growing as they travelled down the hill. There was no one for miles. There was only rolling valleys and the soft purr of grass moving in the wind. Here, he didn’t have to even to think about political meetings, or paperwork, or his shitty economy. Here, America was free to be himself. He felt the superhuman strength run through his veins, just like when he was first found. He could hear the heart beats of every other American beat with his own. It was a connection the American was very proud of. There were times he wondered if it was just his imagination, but out in the middle of nowhere he could feel it in the tips of his fingers. America was in his element. 

The wooden fence to his ranch was coming up fast, but his horse only became more hurried. A hawk above them cawed as they jumped over the wooden fence. America closed his eyes and let time slow in his mind. It was a perfect moment, until the front hooves of his horse touched the ground and brought America back to reality. They landed safely, but America didn’t expect his horse to stop so soon afterwards. Confused, he opened his eyes and found himself starring at France. 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 

France had expected America to run off to his favorite ranch, but what he hadn’t expected was to walk in on the man riding his horse. The Frenchmen let out a low whistle as he watched unashamed. His eyes focused on America’s muscles as they worked through the ride. A drop of sweat caught his attention and his eyes followed it until it disappeared under the neck of his shirt. His tongue ached to follow the same path. The sun beat down on his blond hair and made his eyes shine behind his glasses. How had France missed how tan America’s skin had gotten? Or how tall he had grown? 

Suddenly there were a lot of things France realized he wanted to take notice of on that body. 

But France shook his head, he was here for a reason and he intended to finish this quickly. Canada and England were depending on him. Well, he didn’t care much about the Englishman, but he wasn’t one to disappoint his former colony. Besides, France was looking forward to taking the next plane home so he could work on the arrangements for his upcoming holiday. However, his time crunch didn’t stop him from admiring the way America’s shirt rode up his stomach when his horse jumped the fence.

Movement stopped and two pairs of blue eyes crashed like the sky meeting the ocean at the horizon. Alfred smiled first. 

“Hey, France! What are you doing out here, dude? Don’t tell me you came all the way out here to find me? Don’t ya have some frogs ta de-leg or a strike ta bitch about?”

“You have half the world looking for you, mon cher. I’m simply smart enough to know where to look.” America lifted a leg over his saddle and jumped to the ground, reins in hand. 

“You know,” France continued, “You haven’t hidden out here this long since you were trying to decide rather or not you should go to war for independence.” The American shook his head.

“Nah, I come by here a lot. After wars end, big elections, or when protests give me headaches it is nice to pretend none of it is real by living out here on the old ranch. I just don’t usually stay so long! How many weeks has it been? I totally lost track!” 

“Autumn ends next week.”

“No fucking way!” America was interrupted by France’s laugh. The younger felt his jaw drop. “I only left after summer ended! I mean, I knew I celebrated Thanksgiving here, but I still managed to lose track of time. It sure doesn’t feel like Christmas. There’s so much to do for the holiday! I haven’t even bought gifts yet,” he continued babbling on and on as he walked his horse to the old barn. France followed behind him, lighting a cigarette. The Frenchmen had learned how to tune him out years ago. 

“…And isn’t it still too warm to be December?” France chuckled, mentally making a joke about how America was definitely too hot right now. From behind, he got a great view of that perfectly shaped behind in tight, dirty jeans. The young man had probably been working all day get that much dust on his clothes. America led both of them inside one of the barns, his boots making sound even on the dirt ground. Once inside, he pushed his horse inside of her pen and offering her an apple. 

“That’s a good girl,” the superpower whispered as his pet took the treat, “That run did ya some good, huh girl?” He petted her head once it was gone. France took the chance to look around.

The barn was old, with wood of a lighter hue having been used to fix holes in the walls. There were piles of hay here and there as well as saddles, a box of apples, and brushes for the horses. There were not many stalls and they only held a few horses in them. France assumed any other animals must be in another barn. 

“Who takes care of this place when you’re gone,” France questioned. 

“This place is owned by me, but it’s run by this really great family,” America told him with his usual excitement, “It’s been passed down through them for generations. I make sure they can never lose the farm due to cash flow, and they don’t question my non-changing age and let me show up every couple of decades for fun.”

“That must be hard for them to understand.” France dropped his cigarette under his foot and twisted it into the dirt. 

“Oh, I come by so few times that they usually think that the first man who bought this place is my great grandfather or something. One year I convinced one of their daughters I was Santa Claus on summer vacation.” France made a quick comment about him being as fat as Old Saint Nick, but before America could argue, France took his chance. He stepped up behind America so when the man turned around their faces were so close that America could feel France’s breath on his lips.

“It’s a bit late in the year for Santa to be on vacation, don’t you think, mon cher? Perhaps it is time for you to come home.” America’s eyes widened at the lack of distance between them, but he managed to stop himself from blushing. He was quick to avoid France’s gaze and his welcoming smile. 

“Heh, yeah, but it’s not like anyone is really missing me there. Well, I guess my boss might be pretty steamed, especially if he sent you, of all people, out here to come find me!” America tried to laugh it off, to turn away, but France caught his shoulder and stopped him.

“I wasn’t sent here by your boss. Canada and England asked for my help after they grew worried because they couldn’t find you. Mon ami, you have a whole family that’s concerned for you.” France’s hand traveled up from America’s shoulder to his cheek.

“England asked you for help,” America asked, faking a surprise expression, “he must have been insanely desperate.” 

“Well that stuck up tea-drinker wasn’t about to get his own hands dirty out here in the middle of some crappy farm,” France retorted with a smile. They both chuckled, but the younger’s expression quickly fell as he thought of the real reason he ran out to the ranch. He needed time to think some things over.

“I can act like an idiot, France, but I know what they really think of me,” America responded, “They hate me. They say I’m ignorant and that I stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong. At least out here I can leave them alone.” The older nation frowned. America leaned into the touch of the hand on his cheek, his eyes shut. France recognized the look immediately. 

“Loneliness doesn’t suit you.” The hand began to pull him in closer. America could smell the light cologne on his neck, but he kept his eyes shut. He wasn’t expecting it, but it occurred to America that he wouldn’t mind those soft looking lips pressing against his own. He licked his lips at the thought and waited for the moment when they would mend together.

Suddenly, France moved and his lips hovered over the shell of his ear. “They care about you, cher… you’re part of their family. You three just have an odd way of showing it. But they couldn’t picture a world without you.” America opened his eyes as France was pulled away and let his hand drop. France had kept his promise, even if it was difficult to resist the tempting American cowboy. His job was to remind the young nation that he had a country and friends that needed him to come home.

France turned away, planning to lead the two of them out of the barn, but America wasn’t about to have any of that. See, when America was first found it was discovered that he could be rather selfish. Once he set his eyes on something, he had to have it. He had grown to be a skilled collector over the years and he could get whatever he wanted when he tried hard enough. And at that one moment, surrounded by hay and dust, America had seen something new in those blue eyes that he wanted for keeping. 

A chuckle from behind made France turn around. The Frenchmen wasn’t given a chance to comprehend the look on America’s face or the dark laughter seeping through his lips. Callused fingers griped his wrists and his back hit the rickety wall of the barn. The sea crashed against the sky once again. France’s head ached from the impacted and he winced. With one hand at either side of his head there was no chance of escaping. 

“And what about you,” America demanded with a smirk, “How do you feel about me?” France smiled, keeping his calm composure. The Frenchmen hadn’t expected his small amount of teasing to bring out such a dominating side to the American, but he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. England and Canada could wait a few more hours. He fought against the grip on his wrists, pushing forward enough that their noses almost brushed against one another. France matched the younger’s smirk.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” The younger nation’s laugh echoed off the walls, only to disappear when he crashed their lips together. It was gentle at first, but not for long. America didn’t have the patience for slow kisses. France’s back was pressed against the wall again. Teeth bit down on the American’s bottom lip, causing the other to make the mistake of gasping. Damp warmness pressed to the superpower’s bottom lip and the fight for dominance began.

America pushed his leg in between France’s, moving up painfully slow until finally it pressed up against the Frenchman’s crotch. He wasn’t completely hard yet, America realized with a raised eyebrow, but that would change soon. Strong hands began forcing the Frenchman’s wrists up the wall of the barn, trying to get them above his head. His movements were tantalizingly slow, scratching up the back of France’s hands on the old wood. The joints on America’s fists weren’t doing too much better, but after working on the ranch so long he could ignore the light sting of pain. The older put it out of both their minds when he ground himself against the teasing leg. Out of breath, America pulled away and allowed the string of saliva between them to break.

“Doesn’t this seem…a bit backwards?” France inquired between pants.

“Well dude, sometimes you’re the horse and sometimes you’re the rider,” the American insisted. France chuckled before slamming his thighs together to trap the leg between them. America was too shocked to stop the sudden shove, even though he was physically stronger. The younger’s back hit the wall first, but then those cruel thighs let him go and he was turned around. The American hissed when his chest was smashed against the wood. France held both of his wrists crossed above the younger’s head in his left hand. The other hand began to travel, tracing little patterns down his back. He continued his teasing, reaching around just long enough unbutton and unzip his jeans. Then slithered around the younger’s hips. The touch was removed, but only briefly so France could lick three of his fingers until they dripped. Then his hand dove into the back of the warn fabric of the younger’s jeans.

“But America, don’t you know,” France questioned, pausing long enough to rub circles at his opening, “I’m always the horse.” And then he shoved the first finger in all the way to the second joint. The cowboy groaned in pain, but didn’t ask him to slow down. France let him adjust for a few seconds before slowly pulling his finger out and back in again.  
America was left panting, his arms shaking above his head. The older nation let his wrists free so he could remove those annoying pants. The dirty cloth hit the floor at America’s ankles, followed by his underwear. One finger became two and they wasted no time before they scissored inside him, twisting around until America couldn’t take the teasing anymore and started pushing against the intruding fingers.

“Someone is well practiced,” France teased, reaching around to play with the slit of America’s cock. His grin grew when he felt a drop of precum dirty his thumb. “Excited?” 

“Just-ah-get on with it,” America snapped, only to arch his back when a third finger was added. The arch only pushed the fingers in deeper and he had to bite back a groan.

“Careful now, or I might think you really want this,” France teased. He leaned over the younger and ran the tip of his tongue up the boy’s back, bringing his shirt with him. He hummed in pleasure as he tasted the sweat gained from working all day. America got the hint and reached behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head. It was hard, trying not to move too much with those damnable fingers so close to his sweet spot, but he managed. The shirt was tossed to the side and just as America pressed his arms back to the cold wood, he felt those fingers barely brush his prostate. He moaned, pushing back against the fingers in an attempt to make them touch him more. The stinging pain was easily ignored and dulled by the pleasure that shot up his spine each time that spot was hit. 

“C-come ohhhhnnn, France,” America whined, “that’s enough!”

“Now, now, Américan, patience,” France replied, leaning closer to his ear. “Are you sure you don’t want a forth finger?” He punctuated his question with a bite to the American’s neck, but the younger had had enough games. America reached around, grabbed France’s wrist and slowly pulled out the fingers. France didn’t fight it, focusing instead on his task of sucking the skin between his teeth until it was a painful looking red. He pulled away only after his hand was lifted by the superpower.

They faced each other again, but America became dominant for the second time as he pushed the Frenchmen into the nearest pile of hay. The cowboy toed off his boots and socks, kicked his jeans to the side, and moved to straddle the older Frenchman. France had no problems with watching, enjoying the small strip show as he pushed his own coat off his shoulders. America would not be so gentle, feeling no guilt when he decided to rip open the French’s shirt. Complaints about the ruined fabric fell on deaf ears. There was no real heat in his words anyway.

Hands that felt no patience made their way to France’s pants. France lifted his hips willingly as America worked down his legs and together they disposed the rest of his offending clothing with the rest. France hummed when his length was finally freed, the cool air hitting his skin. He was straddled again, but this time he could feel his aching cock pressing up against the cowboy’s cheeks. America leaned down, pressing kisses to his jaw and grinding his hips down on the other’s crotch. 

America pulled back and gave another show of sucking two of his fingers and licking up the palm of his hand. After making sure it was coated nicely he reached around to grab France at his base. The other thrusted upwards at the touch, frustrated with being ignored so long. America covered the length with the wetness in his hand and the precum dripping from France’s tip. He ran his tongue up along the man’s neck one last time before sitting up. Blue eyes locked and crashed and no one needed words to know they both couldn’t wait any longer. America pressed the swollen tip to his entrance and pushed himself down. 

“Ah!”

It stung in all the right ways. America didn’t even try to hold himself back, he moaned halfway down the length and continued until he had sat all the way down and was full. The American was indulgent, willing to take everything the other could give him and then some. He was almost drooling by the time he reached the base of that cock. It wasn’t the thickness, but the length that had the superpower immediately addicted to the feeling. France watched the younger’s back arch and his eyes glaze over, whispering how beautiful it was. Just like when he arrived to the ranch, France found himself admiring the muscles on the American’s stomach, the way his body twitched with each move. America adjusted as quickly as he could, waiting until the burn dulled just enough that he could push himself up.

He wanted to go fast and rough, but the position with the added pain wouldn’t let him. France met all of his thrusts half way, trying to push in as deep as possible. He felt his way around America’s chest to roll a nipple between his fingers. The super power gasped and rolled his hips down trying to get the friction he needed. 

“F-fuck…France, please. I’m already close. Hnng. S-so please…” America opened his eyes so he could plead with looks and France wasted no time rolling them over so he could be on top. He thrusted in once, aiming for the spot he knew would have the other melting under him. And his action was rewarded with the loudest moan so far.

“Please…what?”

“Fuck me already!” France smiled and pulled out until only his tip remained and then shoved in all the way again. It was nothing like when they started, this time it was a rush towards completion. America tried to meet each thrust, but once his sweet spot was struck he could do nothing by lay there, a compliant, moaning mess. France was quieter, his lips spilling out whispered curses in gargled up English and French. It happened too fast and soon there was a tightening feeling that started to coil in the pit of both their stomachs. Desperately, America reached down to stroke himself in time with France’s thrusts. The Frenchmen groaned at the sight and let himself go inside of the tight heat. America’s toes curled when he felt himself being filled to the brink of his completion. His back arched, and with one last hit to his prostate, his vision went white.  
“Please come home.”  


• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 

France put down the last plate of food out for his guests. He had decided against planning some big elaborate Christmas party at the last minute. The decorations and lights were simple, an old radio played songs by the fireplace. The tree was still taller than France, but it didn’t overpower the whole room. Though one thing didn’t change, France had allowed himself the pleasure of wine. He took a sip of as he move to sit down in a chair by Canada and England in the living room where the tree was. 

The Frenchman had decided that a small, more traditional family holiday would be for the best. He was in a good mood, only getting in a fight with England twice. Canada was content to eat a little food and laugh at the two of them. It was as quiet as it possibly could be, but France supposed that was part of the Christmas Eve magic. 

The doorbell rang, silencing everyone. France smiled knowingly, placed his glass on the coffee table and went to go answer it. He opened it to find America, presents in hand, but a slightly nervous look on his face. He still had his cowboy hat and his old dirty boots on, an overnight bag hung off his shoulder. He muttered a greeting and France stepped aside to let him in. England looked shocked, Canada’s smile grew. They hadn’t seen him or heard from the American for months, so they were both stunned.  
France didn’t let them react right away. He caught America’s attention and pointed up with his index finger. Blue eyes followed the direction from behind his glasses. They grew wide at the sight of the mistletoe hanging over their heads. Before America could look back down, France pulled him close by the color of his shirt. Presents fell from his arms, freeing them to wrap around the Frenchman’s waist. They kissed, eyes shut and hearts beating hard in their chest. Beside them, England’s tea cup crashed on the floor. It would be chaos and would likely start a fight, but America knew that’s just how his family worked. France pulled back, reaching up to remove the other’s hat. 

“You’re late for my party,” he teased, grin widening when America shook his head and chuckled.

“Welcome home cowboy.”


End file.
